But from time to time, I’m welcomed by profoundly good luck. On rare occasions, days off align with fantastic weather, a usable runway, and a properly functioning, squawk-free airplane. On these occasions, I approach my flying with a healthy dose of suspicion and brace myself for the worst, but I make sure to appreciate the good fortune.

Last week, one such day presented itself. After a solid month of fog, low ceilings, and generally dreary weather, the sun reintroduced itself to the upper Midwest, and the people rejoiced. Waving hello to all the other happy citizens of my small town as Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah played loudly in my head, I made my way to the small, private airport I call home. While no bluebirds landed on my shoulder, a lone cow regarded me as I passed a nearby farm, and I figured that, given my location in the Wisconsin countryside, that would suffice as a stand-in.

Winds were light and out of the east, neatly aligning themselves to two of my favorite grass strips in the area. While a wispy cloud layer was visible above, low ceilings would not be a factor. And it was even pleasantly warm, setting me up for a relatively pain-free preflight inspection.

Upon arriving at the airport, I saw that the typical poor snow removal did present a few challenges. A couple of Volkswagen-sized dirt mounds littered the east end, and only a narrow strip of the western third had been plowed. Fortunately, I was confident I could successfully negotiate these issues and proceeded with my preflight. 

The preflight was successful in more than one way. I found no mechanical concerns to speak of, and my new technique of packing out any food (namely energy bars) out of the cabin had apparently alleviated the mouse problem I had encountered the previous month. Happily noting that the engine oil level had stabilized perfectly over the preceding eight flight hours, I pronounced the airplane fit to fly.

• READ MORE: Managing the Doldrums of Winter

The engine start and run-up were uneventful, and it was warm enough that I kept the window open for the sheer novelty of doing so in February. I dutifully made my calls on the CTAF as I backtaxied, but the airport and airspace above remained completely serene. Not one airplane was visible, even via ADS-B on my newly overhauled panel. 

While the sun gave the impression of warmth, the air was still crisp and thick, providing a bit more thrust than I’m accustomed to in the summer. Observing the engine stabilize at 2430 rpm early in the takeoff roll, I smiled as my 80/42 seaplane propeller clawed its way through the air and pulled me aloft in less than 400 feet. A quick turn southbound placed me on course for Brodhead, a favorite little airport of mine with three grass runways and a vibrant antique aircraft community.

A mottled landscape of brown and white unfolded beneath me, the remnants of our early January snowstorm receding into the lush soil. Because the state of Wisconsin is unable or unwilling to assign more than a few CTAFs to its airports statewide, a massive variety of unseen voices emerges from my headset. In a 20-mile radius, roughly 11 airports share 122.9, and we step on each other more often than kids forced to learn square dancing in gym class. 

Frustrating as it can be, this comes with a side benefit. As I depart my home field and visit the two other airports on my agenda, I can simply leave my radio tuned to the single frequency the entire time. Because we’re friendly people in the Great Lakes region, position reports are sprinkled with jaunty hellos and inquiries about the day’s plans. This creates additional congestion, sure, but so long as the niceties are kept brief, none of us complain. 

Before long, I entered the pattern at Brodhead. Keeping an eye out for the many radioless antique planes that call the airport home, I ensure every LED light is powered up and continue to dutifully make my position reports. Surprisingly, no other traffic is present, and as tends to be the case when no witnesses are around, I manage to nail each wheel landing, rolling my big Bushwheels onto the grass so lightly I could barely tell when they spun up. 

With the rust of a nonflying January sufficiently cleared off, I departed the pattern and made my way up to Albany, Wisconsin. Relatively short for the area at 1,700 feet, I enjoy challenging myself to take off and land within the first 500 feet of Runway 9— a distance clearly identifiable by the perpendicular perimeter of a neighboring cornfield. As I approached the field, I reminded myself how transients sometimes mix up the name Albany with a nearby town called Albion and listened for both names on the still-busy frequency.

While the continued lack of other traffic and witnesses promised another series of excellent landings, the light breeze decided I could use a bit of a challenge. It shifted around to the north and spilled over an adjacent tree line, randomly changing direction as it saw fit. Riding the swirls and eddies down final, I refocused and had fun trying to predict and anticipate this new variable. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn’t, but while my landings were no longer things of beauty, I enjoyed the atmospheric lesson immensely.

Thoroughly limbered up after a good number of landings and short approaches, I headed back home and was welcomed with the aforementioned narrow strip of runway, bordered by the remnants of lazy snow plowing. It took little effort to properly align myself and set down on centerline, but I was then caught off guard by an errant puff of wind that launched me back up into the air like a hot-air balloon. Carefully maintaining a slightly nose-up deck angle and avoiding a pilot-induced oscillation, a quick shot of power cushioned my return to earth and I settled back down in an ugly yet safe fashion. 

A quick glance to the left revealed the reason for the bobbled landing—another airport tenant was standing nearby, recording me with his cellphone. Where were the cameras down at Brodhead? But my indignation soon subsided to thankfulness as the reality of a perfect day of flying settled in. Days like this don’t occur often enough. So we must soak them up and savor them when they do.

The post A Perfect Day for Flying appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

I am often inspired by the real locations and weather I experience when I am on a real work trip. With ForeFlight by my side, it’s fun to test the realism of the sims and how they’re interpreting live weather worldwide. Both X-Plane 12 (XP12) and Microsoft Flight Simulator 2020 (MSFS2020) do a pretty good job of keeping up with it and both have shown continual improvements. It seems each month the message forums are showcasing live weather questions, observations, frustrations, and praise. 

I feel the most accurate live weather award currently goes to MSFS2020 as most of the flights I take, with ForeFlight next to me, are startlingly accurate. The altimeter, visibility, and clouds are really spot on. Locations of rain or snow are pretty accurate too with virga and visual depictions often having me saying “wow.” 

I made my way westward recently from the East Coast to encounter winter spots. The first was a stop into Cleveland Hopkins International Airport (KCLE) using a 787 Dreamliner. KCLE is known for lake-effect snow and this day didn’t disappoint. Snow bands were flowing west to east, and my flight session, down the ILS to an eventual autoland, took me right in the heart of it all.

Various moments from the cockpit view included bursts of snow whooshing past, some varying visibility, and not a lot of turbulence. Even as shown on ForeFlight, the snow showers ended east of the field near the city, allowing for an almost completely visual approach. As I got closer, some definite wind shear jibs and jabs made the wings bounce, something the 787 is famous for with its dampening, flexing wings.

Testing live weather was a success in this scenario. Let’s see the next one. 

I proceeded westward a few hours to the Dakotas and upon reaching there had some very windy weather and snowy bursts to contend with as well. I was using the amazing Learjet 35 I recently featured and it was a blast to feel this one out in surface winds gusting to 40 knots. The Learjet has enough fuel for about 1,500 nm tops, and in this case I traveled about 1,000 miles. I set out for a field in the North Dakota-eastern Montana area for fuel and aircraft change.

The somewhat higher elevations and wide-open areas with some gradual terrain will start making shear. The bumps were noticeable but not yet overly crazy. The wind flow over terrain effect within MSFS is remarkably accurate. 

For the next leg of the adventure, I chose the default Cessna Longitude bizjet, with more range and modern avionics to attempt a “visual” in horrendous weather, surrounded by dangerous terrain. Revelstoke, British Columbia, in Canada is spectacular as it gets, so I went to go check it out.

I vectored myself onto the arrival below the terrain. I would be landing on Runway 30 with the poor weather conditions, so I decided to use the modern technology at hand.

Following the 3D view with an eyesight-enhanced vision system on the Latitude, I could see right through the clouds and snow, down the river in virtual visual conditions. Now, I don’t think pilots with this avionics package do this yet, but I could see someday in the not too distant future the ability to just fly a visual approach in something horrendous.

I was led right down the shoot to the breakout point and runway in real visual conditions at a low altitude I would say was near ILS minimums.

In the real Challenger 300 I fly, similar to the Longitude, the reversers are so effective and rev up to such a high percentage, we don’t even touch the brakes until almost walking speed or something under 40 knots.

MSFS has great icing modeled with effects on performance. It doesn’t always come off cleanly, and sometimes even windows don’t get cleared very rapidly.

Continuing the adventure, I got into an A321neo (LatinVFR available on sim marketplace) for the rest of the journey westward. There is no better, more scenic place than Juneau, Alaska, and an unusual weather event was occurring at the time—clear skies! Alaska in winter is usually terrible with huge rain storms likely along the coast or wet snow blizzards. Apparently a cold snap following some heavy snows was occurring the day I tried this, and the built-in live weather matched the conditions almost to a T.

I have to stop somewhere, because the adventuring available in Alaska is endless. Maybe I’ll do this  again later this winter as there is so much to discover and tinker with. Setting up manual weather to something wild and dangerous is also fun, especially in mountainous regions. Using the variety of GA aircraft available in the sims opens up a whole new avenue of bush flying, where icing dangers are more noteworthy. 

As always, I have to link the “must-haves” as you fly: 

FS Realistic Pro for the best add-on ever made.

Sporty’s Pilot Shop for all the flight controls imaginable and an easy home setup.

ProDeskSim for the coolest affordable add-ons to the Honeycomb throttle quadrant that will leave you drooling. 

The post Testing Live Weather and Winter Wonders Along the Way appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

This winter, we received about a foot of snow in one shot, followed by a week of subzero temperatures and high winds. That was about a week and a half of nonflyable weather for those of us still building our tailwheel skills. When the winds finally subsided they were replaced with temperatures in the upper 30s…which resulted in 200-foot ceilings and thick fog. We’re going on week two of these conditions, and it’s now been a full month since I’ve been able to fly at all.

Every aircraft owner in this climate must anticipate conditions and nonflying periods like this. But this is doubly important for relatively new owners like me still learning how to best care for their airplanes and refining flying skills. Gone are the days of landing the FBO’s rental airplane, tossing the keys to the person at the front desk, and forgetting about it for a few weeks. Now, as the caretaker of an airframe and engine, there are more responsibilities to consider.

So, as someone new to ownership, what should you consider when facing weeks upon weeks of nonflyable weather? For me, there are two primary areas of focus—the engine’s health and my perishable flying skills. 

It’s fairly common knowledge that the worst thing you can do to an airplane engine is let it sit unused for long periods. This makes every potential window of flyable weather that much more valuable, considering it might be followed by a month of inactivity. This is why, on my last flight, I pushed my limits a bit and ventured out on an extremely slick runway covered in mud and snow. 

That flight amounted to only one trip around the pattern. But with a thoroughly preheated and then warmed-up engine, the engine did, in fact, reach normal operating temperature as I was turning downwind. The ensuing sketchy runway conditions were bad enough to make me call it a day, but having gotten my engine up to temp, I effectively reset its “sitting on the ground” meter, and I felt better about having to leave it parked for the following weeks.

To ease the strain of starting an engine in frigid temperatures, I do a few things. First, I invested in the best engine preheating system money could buy, utilizing my rule that if the cost to upgrade from the cheapest to the best product available is three figures or less, I just do it. Like most systems, my Reiff preheater has a heating element on the oil pan…but it also has a metal band mounted around each cylinder to heat the entire engine evenly. This also prevents the introduction of piping-hot oil into ice-cold cylinders during start-up.

Similarly, I make a point of storing quarts of oil at home in a warm kitchen cabinet. This way, you’re adding nice warm oil into the engine if you need to add a quart. If your significant other complains about 20W-50 next to the corn flakes, simply put the situation into perspective by pointing out how you could be building an entire experimental aircraft at home but choose instead to hangar a prebuilt example at the airport for their convenience.

On the evening before each winter flight, I’ll drive out to the airport to plug in the preheater. Yes, there are devices to remotely activate such systems via a cellphone or Wi-Fi signal, but I take the opportunity to inspect both the airplane and runway. More than once, I’ve discovered an abysmal snow plowing job, mechanical issue, or some other problem that would have resulted in a canceled flight the following morning.

With a properly cared for and warmed-up engine, my next concern is my proficiency, particularly as a relatively new tailwheel pilot. Just as it’s bad to let your engine sit unused for extended periods, the same goes for your skills. With a typical Monday through Friday 9-to-5 schedule, the lack of daylight in the northern states this time of year effectively limits flying to only Saturday and Sunday. From there, low ceilings or high winds only have to occur a few times to thoroughly ruin a month of flying.

It’s a balancing act. On one hand, you want to respect your personal limits when you’re beginning to get rusty. On the other hand, pushing your limits a bit on a less-than-perfect day might give you the mental reset you need to sharpen your skills and regain some confidence. This will better prepare you to get through the next long period of poor weather and no flying.

It’s always good to go up with an instructor from time to time. If faced with a marginal day with, for example, winds outside of your personal limits, it might be a great opportunity to go up for a lesson, giving you the mental and mechanical reboot necessary to get through another few weeks on the ground.

The post Managing the Doldrums of Winter appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Aircraft Stored in Hangars

If you are lucky enough to have an enclosed hangar, do your preflight inspection inside with the door closed to retain the heat. Don’t open it until you are absolutely ready to take the airplane outside, then close the door quickly, as soon as it is safe to do so.

When the time comes to put the airplane back in the hangar, don’t be in a rush. If this is your first winter in the hangar, you will find it helpful to put marks on the floor indicating where the tires should be placed. Paint or gaffing tape do the job. Some of the more savvy hangar owners will also put marks on the wall to indicate the wing should go no farther back than that to prevent a tail strike with the rear wall.

Pro tip: If you enlist the help of someone to help you move the aircraft, make sure they understand the concept of letting you know when the wing, tail, etc., is getting close to hitting something so you can prevent it from happening. A Piper Cub at local flight school suffered a creased wingtip because the person who normally answered phones at the flight school and was asked to “watch the wing” didn’t understand this concept. So they stayed silent and watched as the pilot/owner accidentally pushed the airplane’s wingtip into a wooden staircase.

Bring the Heat

When the flight school has a large fleet, and multiple flights are set to launch in the morning, there is a logistic ballet with the aircraft that go out first being kept in the hangar and the heat activated an hour or so before the client gets there. When the aircraft is pushed out of the hangar, the next one to go out is pulled inside for defrosting.

Be patient. Sometimes the doors are frozen shut. Don’t try to force them. Don’t be in a rush to get the ice off—and all the ice and frost must come off. Scraping ice off an airplane will damage the paint and plexiglas windows. Let it melt, instead, and wipe the slush with a squeegee or soft cloth. Budget extra time for the preflight inspection—at least 15 minutes—when aircraft defrosting is on the agenda.

Be very careful if you use a plastic bristle brush to get powdery snow off the top of an airplane. Avoid the plexiglas. Dry the aircraft with a clean, soft towel—preferably a chamois.

Pro tip: If a towel is dropped on the hangar floor or ground, it should not touch an aircraft again because there is a chance it has picked up some grit that will damage the aircraft’s finish.

After the towels are used, wring them out and hang them up to dry. Some FBOs provide a laundry service that takes the used towels and replaces them with clean ones. Other FBOs buy the towels in bulk and they are one-time-use items. Dispose of the wet towels properly. You do not want to be the person who leaves a soggy, dripping-wet towel on the ground, on top of a drain, or in the sink because your mother taught you to leave used towels in the bathtub after use. Find out what the procedure is at the place you fly and follow it.

Verify the aircraft is completely dry before you move it back to the ramp so it does not refreeze.

Things to Watch For

Frozen fuel caps and the oil cap may be hard to dislodge. It helps if you can get over them (using a stepladder for a high-wing aircraft) for better leverage. Pro tip: There are specially made wrenches to remove stubborn oil caps—invest in one.

If you find ice on the glareshield or panel, there is a leak in the canopy. You may want to have the avionics shop check the radios for damage, and don’t be surprised if the faces of the round-dial instruments are opaque with condensation. The only way to remove it is time and heat. Some pilots and mechanics get creative and bring in professional-grade blow dryers to expedite the moisture-clearing process. The clever CFIs use this situation as a teachable moment to review FAR 91.205 with the learner.

• READ MORE: Flying Through a Wisconsin Winter

Preheating

Even if the aircraft is kept in a hangar, it will likely need some form of preheating. This can be an electrically powered engine block heater placed inside the cowl and left on when the aircraft is not in use, or a combination of the block heater and cowl plugs and cowl cover. Some  owners use oil preheaters that are activated several hours before the flight to warm the engine.

Some FBOs use butane-powered or electrically powered warm air blowers to warm up the aircraft’s engine and sometimes the interior before they move an aircraft from the hangar to the ramp.

Battery Challenges

Cold weakens batteries, so some flight schools remove them from aircraft that don’t fly often, keeping the batteries in the warmth of an office to preserve them. They are reinstalled before flight, so there needs to be some advance planning.

Battery conservation during the preflight inspection is also practiced. When the master switch is turned on, the electric flaps should be lowered no more than 10 degrees. Then the pilot races around the airplane to check the lights and pitot heat, stall warning if electric, then turn off the master so as not to run down the battery.

Defrosting on the Ramp

Defrosting an airplane on the ramp takes more time than in a heated hangar and is often done with a combination of sun and deicing fluid, such as isopropyl alcohol and/or hot water, followed by drying the aircraft with towels.

Deicing fluid isn’t cheap, and its use may be limited to certain aircraft. Also, there is a technique for the most efficient application, so ask to be trained on that.

Using solar heat alone to defrost the airplane involves repositioning the aircraft a few times so the sun can work its magic. Remove the control lock and check to make sure the control surfaces are not frozen into place. Run your bare hand over the skin to check for ice, especially under the tail and on top of the flaps. Under certain lighting conditions—especially if the aircraft is painted white—it can be difficult to tell if there is ice on it. You find out when you attempt to lower the flaps and there is a grinding noise, then, if you are lucky, the ice breaks and the flaps come down. I have experienced a stealthy sheet of ice shaped like the flap of the Cessna 172 break off while I was dropping the flaps. It sounded like a gunshot when it broke free, and I hit the deck instinctively, much to the amusement of my CFI.

Getting from Parking to the Runway

Some nontowered airports are closed when it snows because they lack snow removal equipment. Check the notices to air missions (NOTAMs) carefully.

Airports served by air carriers or operating under Part 139 usually have snow removal plans established. The runway is usually plowed first, then the ramp, taxiways, etc. Some FBOs rely on their staff to clear the snow from in front of hangars or around their airplanes on the ramp. If this is your first winter working at an FBO in a snow-prone area, understand that it is not uncommon for the line staff and sometimes CFIs to be called into work early for this task.

Before you complain, understand that some FBO owners with aircraft parked outside will spend all day and all night at the FBO and periodically go outside to clear the snow off the tails of the aircraft to keep them from being damaged by heavy amounts.

Protect Yourself from the Cold

Know where the defroster vents are in the aircraft, and just to be safe, carry a chamois to wipe condensation from the windscreen during flight.

Don’t rely on the heater in the aircraft to keep you warm. Just don’t. They either come on full blast or not at all. The heat comes from outside air warmed as it passes over the engine manifold and is then ducted into the aircraft cabin. If there is a leak in the manifold, you can be poisoned by exhaust, which is tasteless, odorless, and colorless, so make sure the aircraft has a carbon monoxide (CO) detector. These can be one-time-use cardboard units that are mounted on the panel. When the CO detector turns dark, you have a problem.

The Lightspeed Delta Zulu headset has a built-in audio CO warning. This feature was introduced in fall 2022, and according to the company, has provided a potential lifesaving warning to dozens of pilots thus far.

Bonus note: If you are flying a light twin that uses a heater powered by the fuel supply, be sure to know how much fuel it is going to consume per hour (check the heater manual or aircraft POH) and plan accordingly.

Dress in layers and wear a cap, because we lose approximately 30 percent of our body heat from our heads. Be careful about how bulky your clothing is, because it is difficult to share a cockpit when both you and the CFI/copilot/learner resemble the Michelin Man. You may have to experiment to find what works for you.

CFI tip: Keep an extra jacket on hand for when the learner forgets theirs. If they are cold, they can’t learn.

Protect your hands with gloves. You may only wear them during the preflight inspection, but keep them handy. While mittens are warmer, you need the dexterity gloves provide. If you don’t wear gloves, be prepared for raw and chapped hands. If this happens to you, O’Keeffe’s Working Hands Hand Cream is a lifesaver.

Ground Ops in the Slush

Be careful when maneuvering the aircraft on the ramp and runway. Don’t expect to have any traction on ice—therefore, no brakes. While this works for floatplanes, a crosswind during takeoff or landing on an icy runway can be a disaster.

Plowed snow is usually stacked off to the side out of the way of the aircraft. Note where the piles and drains are. Plan your taxi route accordingly. Be sure to clear away the snow from drains around the hangars to avoid flooding and water intrusion.

If the Aircraft Has Covers

Remove the covers one at a time in a logical order. Shake off the snow and ice from them, and if possible, hang them in a heated hangar or other building to dry while you fly.

• READ MORE: Protecting Your Investment

Above all, have fun when you’re flying—snow has a way of making everything pretty.

The post It’s Time to Winterize Your Flying appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

If you plan an altitude where the temperature aloft is zero degrees Celsius or less, airframe icing becomes exceedingly more likely while flying in visible moisture. Therefore, the freezing level is one key variable that you need to determine during your preflight analysis to better quantify your risk of airframe ice.

Let’s clarify something right from the beginning. The FAA likes to use the term “freezing level” in all of its documentation. This is kind of a misnomer, given that water in the liquid state doesn’t necessarily freeze just because the static air temperature is below freezing. We must be concerned about the presence of supercooled water, which leads to airframe icing. On the contrary, water in the solid state (i.e., snow) must melt even if the static air temperature is a hair warmer than zero degrees Celsius. Meteorologists prefer to use the more accurate term of “melting level.” But pilots are stuck with “freezing level” for the foreseeable future.

A Rarely Standard Lapse Rate

One approach that some instructors teach is to use the standard lapse rate to calculate or estimate the lowest freezing level. That is, they use the current surface temperature at the airport and then subtract 2 degrees Celsius for every 1,000-foot gain in altitude. For example, if the surface temperature is 10 degrees Celsius and you are departing from an airport at sea level elevation, then the freezing level should be 5,000 feet. That method seems easy enough, but it’s a bad idea to do this. The standard lapse rate should only be applied to performance tables in the pilot operating handbook as a method to determine the departure from standard.

When Mother Nature is at her worst behavior, the atmosphere is rarely standard. In fact, during the late morning and afternoon, the environmental lapse rate is more often than not greater than standard near the surface. This is the layer of air that is directly influenced by the presence of the earth’s surface and, therefore, is what meteorologists refer to as the planetary boundary layer (PBL). The lapse rate in the PBL is often closer to the dry adiabatic rate (DALR) of 3 degrees Celsius for every 1,000-foot gain in altitude. Under these more typical conditions, using the standard lapse rate will cause you to calculate a freezing level that is higher than the actual lapse rate suggests. Therefore, if you expected the freezing level to be at 5,000 feet, you might be surprised during your climb to encounter supercooled liquid water beginning at 3,500 feet instead of 5,000 feet.

You might say, “That’s crazy—no sane pilot would do this.” Well, even the FAA fell into this line of thinking. In 2005, a student and a flight instructor ended up with a hard landing at Paine Field (KPAE) in Everett, Washington, after accreting airframe ice in a Cessna 172. They departed a nearby airport, Boeing Field (KBFI), to go out and shoot a few practice approaches in actual instrument conditions. This is certainly a noble effort when it is safe to do so. After the first missed approach, the instructor noticed ice accreting on the airframe and directed the student to return to Paine Field to land. During this landing, the aircraft ran off the runway, which resulted in an accident and subsequent FAA and National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) investigation.

The FAA later determined the instructor, who was pilot in command, busted FAR 91.9 (a), which prohibits pilots from operating an aircraft without complying with its operating limitations. In this case, there’s a placard in the aircraft that states: “Flight into known icing conditions is prohibited.” The instructor was also cited with careless or reckless operation under FAR 91.13 (a). So, a certificate action was taken that included a 90-day suspension. The instructor requested an evidentiary hearing and later appealed the ruling to the NTSB. However, the NTSB agreed with the case the FAA presented.

I certainly don’t take issue with the outcome of this judgment, but one thing struck me as being a bit strange. The FAA argued that the instructor should have been aware of the lowest freezing level and, therefore, the potential for airframe ice at higher altitudes. To my chagrin, they suggested the instructor should have been aware of the surface temperature at the airport of 2 degrees Celsius—based on their briefing prior to departure—and then, they should have used the standard lapse rate to determine that the temperature would be at or below freezing in the clouds aloft. Ugh! Well, this just happened to be convenient for the FAA since the lapse rate near the surface was close to standard on that day and time. Therefore, it worked out, coincidentally, to favor the FAA’s case against this instructor. The lapse rate, as stated previously, varies and may not be the accurate measure to use when figuring the altitudes where icing might be likely.

Temperature Inversions

At the other extreme is a common situation when there is a formidable surface-based temperature inversion. In this situation, the surface temperature can be a chilly 7 degrees Celsius (45 degrees Fahrenheit) with a freezing level at more than 12,000 feet msl. This is quite common in regions around a warm front. As warm air overruns cold air at the surface, this creates a negative lapse rate (called an inversion) or a scenario where the temperature increases along with altitude before it begins to resume a more normal positive lapse rate in the free atmosphere aloft. When such an inversion exists, using the standard lapse rate may leave you with the impression that the freezing level is quite low when, in fact, it might be a very reasonable day to fly from an icing perspective if you remain below 12,000 feet.

In this scenario, it is quite common when an aviation accident occurs for the casual observer to quickly conclude that the aircraft encountered icing conditions. If it’s that chilly at the surface, then the freezing level must be just a few thousand feet up, right? That’s what pilots generally thought when a Beechcraft B58 Baron went down after departing the Spirit of St. Louis Airport (KSUS) on the winter evening of January 8, 2022. The flight departed at 7:10 p.m. CST headed westbound toward Denver. They were on an IFR flight plan and were cleared to climb to a cruise altitude of 8,000 feet. Shortly after reaching cruise, the Baron appeared to depart controlled flight with a rapid descent under unknown circumstances. It subsequently impacted the terrain 2.5 miles south of New Melle, Missouri (12 miles west of the Spirit of St. Louis Airport), killing the pilot and another occupant.

The temperature at the surface was 7 degrees Celsius with a dew point temperature of 6 degrees Celsius. There was much speculation and debate within the internet aviation community that airframe icing may have played a role in this fatal accident. This is certainly understandable. The elevation of KSUS is 463 feet msl, and using a standard lapse rate, the altitude of the lowest freezing level should be approximately 4,000 feet as shown here.

• 1,463 feet –> +5 degrees Celsius
• 2,463 feet –> +3 degrees Celsius
• 3,463 feet –> +1 degrees Celsius
• 4,463 feet –> -1 degree Celsius

Using the standard lapse rate in this way leads to an incorrect freezing level. This is echoed in the one-hour forecast (above), which suggests the lowest freezing level west of the Spirit of St. Louis Airport was between 11,000 feet and 13,000 feet. Using the standard lapse rate instead of the low freezing level forecast cre-ates an error of 7,000 to 9,000 feet in this case.

Shortly after the accident, the NTSB was quick to point out in a press conference that the freezing level was 12,000 feet and icing was unlikely since the aircraft remained below this level. But that didn’t make the internet community all that happy. Some still concluded that the NTSB was premature in its comments and that the causal factor would ultimately be associated with airframe icing, citing the standard lapse rate in their argument.

In fact, one YouTube personality suggested this flight likely encountered freezing drizzle, although no precipitation was reported at KSUS at the time of the accident. The NTSB will release its findings very soon, but the temperature profile on that evening included a healthy surface-based inversion and clearly the standard lapse rate would lead to a much lower freezing level.

Warm Air Overrun

With a little weather forensics, it was easy to discover that this was the classic case of warm air overrunning cold air—the result of the northerly movement of a warm front through the accident area as shown above. In fact, the temperature at approximately 5,000 feet msl was 9 degrees Celsius as shown below. It is not possible to accrete ice at those static air temperatures. Yes, there was freezing rain reported at the surface about 100 nm to the north-northeast at the Abraham Lincoln Capital Airport (KSPI) in Springfield, Illinois, where it was much colder, and the surface temperature was a chilly 1 degree Celsius.

Even so, there was a massive temperature inversion aloft over Springfield such that the temperature at 3,100 feet msl was 8 degrees Celsius. That’s an increase of 7 degrees Celsius at 2,500 feet above the surface. The temperature didn’t go negative over Springfield until roughly 9,000 feet msl. Whether in St. Louis or Springfield, this would have created a warm-soaked aircraft in the climb.

Where There’s Freezing Rain

In a freezing rain scenario, it is common to have two (or more) freezing levels. One way this occurs is in the presence of deep saturated conditions with cold cloud top temperatures. This allows ice crystal growth and creates snow which falls into a melting layer to create rain. These drops then fall into a subfreezing layer near the surface to create supercooled large droplet (SLD) icing called freezing rain. All of this is courtesy of a surface-based temperature inversion with multiple freezing levels aloft. This is the classical freezing rain temperature profile.

But there’s also a more common case where clouds aloft are dominated by liquid when the cloud top temperature is much warmer. In this non-classical case, there may be two or more freezing levels, or the entire temperature profile may be below zero degrees Celsius. In this non-classical case, the saturated layer has a depth usually less than about 10,000 feet. This places the temperature of the cloud top to be warmer than negative-12 degrees Celsius. Warm-topped precipitation events like this—even when the entire temperature profile is below freezing—are dominated by water in the liquid state and often produce drizzle-sized drops with little or no ice crystals that are needed to develop the growth of snowflakes. This kind of non-classical temperature profile produces most of the cases of freezing rain and freezing drizzle.

If you want to avoid making a bad judgment, understand the big weather picture and then use the lowest freezing level forecast, like the one depicted above, which is found on the Aviation Weather Center’s website. This includes an analysis along with hourly forecasts up to 18 hours from the time they are issued.

This forecast is automated but is updated hourly and is generated from the Rapid Refresh (RAP) numerical weather prediction model. The vertical resolution is quite reasonable at 2,000 feet.

The official freezing level forecast is found on the same website at aviationweather.gov/gairmet. This graphical AIRMET (G-AIRMET) forecast is issued by aviation meteorologists and depicts the freezing level at 4,000-foot intervals. It also indicates where multiple freezing levels may exist, including their height. Its spatial and temporal resolution is not as good as the automated forecast, however.

If you are a weather nerd, you might try learning how to use a Skew-T log (p) diagram like the one above. One of the most interactive websites for these is found at rucsoundings.noaa.gov. The Op40 input data source used here is the same RAP model that is used to produce the lowest freezing level chart forecast. With such a diagram, you can precisely pinpoint the forecast freezing level over a particular location at a particular time or determine for yourself if multiple freezing levels exist.

And if you are a bit lazy, you can use a vertical route profile or vertical cross section that depicts the freezing level along your proposed route of flight. Many of the heavyweight apps have such a depiction, including my progressive web app, EZWxBrief. With a profile view, as shown above, it’s painless to see how the freezing level changes across your route of flight so you can quickly compare this to your proposed altitude. In fact, in addition to lines of constant temperature that include the zero-degree isotherm, you can overlay other key elements, such as clouds, icing severity, or even turbulence.

From the December 2022/January 2023 Issue 933 of FLYING

The post Staying on Top of the Freezing Level appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

Due to our status as repeat offenders, Mrs. Frye reacted swiftly and fiercely. She sent us both directly to the office, where the principal drafted official disciplinary letters to be taken home and signed by our parents. While I was ultimately able to successfully represent myself and avoid any harsh sentencing, the anticipation of punishment was both stressful and memorable.

Last week, decades after the incident, that long-forgotten feeling of dread resurfaced when I potentially damaged the grass runway at my home airport and once again found myself anticipating harsh punishment. 

The weather had, over the preceding three weeks, been completely miserable and unfit for flying. If it wasn’t gale-force crosswinds, it was heavy snowfall or low ceilings with freezing precipitation. In other words, it had been a typical Wisconsin winter, and I was ready for some revenge flying the moment the weather improved.

Finally, a beautiful Sunday emerged. Brilliant blue sky and a mercifully light, warm breeze drew me to the airport with bright eyes and a bushy tail. Pulling into the airport, I saw the runway had been plowed. It was shaping up to be a perfect day for flying. 

Then I turned into the hangar row and saw the carnage of sloppy, careless snow plow work. Though the runway had been nicely cleared, the areas in front of the hangars were littered with massive pools of mud, trenches of dirt, and haphazard snow drifts, some as tall as my car. It looked like the snowplow driver was attempting to fight off a family of rabid wolverines while operating the vehicle.

Coating my car in clumps of mud and nearly getting stuck, I finally made it to my hangar and surveyed the scene. The plow had apparently made just one pass in front of my hangar, leaving me with insufficient space to taxi. I had to get creative. 

I hopped back into my car and spent the next 20 minutes driving back and forth across the fender-high snow drifts. Eventually, I was able to flatten them and create a path to the runway. I felt bad for subjecting my beloved Volkswagen GTI to such abuse, but I was motivated to fly.

With the big snow drifts out of the way, I was confident my problems were behind me. I had, after all, upgraded to 26” Alaskan Bushwheels last summer. While it would have been dangerous to taxi through frozen snow drifts over half their height, their floatation would make it possible to negotiate the muddy wasteland before me safely.

Sure enough, the taxi out went fine. The combination of slick tires and similarly slick mud and snow made it challenging to steer with any degree of precision, but I was able to remain stationary for the runup and avoid sliding into any tall drifts. I slithered out to the runway feeling simultaneously angry at the airport owner for his substandard plowing and victorious for conquering it.

The pattern work went fine, as well. I always feel rusty after three or more weeks without flying, but after the first landing, muscle memory had returned and I felt better. The only item of concern was a near-total lack of traction atop the wet, muddy grass. A light tap of a brake resulted in instant lockup with no perceptible change in speed or direction. Fortunately, the Cessna 170B lands slowly and I was able to maintain centerline reasonably well. The biggest challenge was getting turned around for each backtaxi.

After hammering out a number of landings, I decided not to press my luck any further and started to work my way through the slop and back to my hangar. This took twice as long as normal due to ineffective differential braking, but I made it safely. Best of all, the airplane was intact.

The runway, however, was not.

As expected, my big tundra tires and their 8 psi of pressure left virtually no imprints on the ground. But the standard, everyday tailwheel acted like a pizza cutter. Like a grotesque, real-life Flightaware track, each landing and backtaxi was marked with a vivid black trench where the tailwheel had carved its signature deep into the soft ground.

I quickly looked around to see if anyone was present to identify me as the guilty party. The coast was clear. With unprecedented speed and efficiency, I pulled the plane back into the hangar and buttoned everything up. A rooster tail of mud behind my VW marked my departure, and I headed home at a brisk pace.

As of this writing, I’m facing one of two scenarios. Either the airport owner doesn’t care about tailwheel trenches, in which case I’m home free. Or he does, and I stand to incur his wrath the next time he spots me out at my hangar. If the latter scenario occurs, I will admit my shortsightedness and will face my punishment without complaint. Either way, I’ll tell him about it since it’s the right thing to do.

Until then, the anticipation of my fate takes me right back to fifth grade, where I once again envision worst-case scenarios and prepare for my day of reckoning.

The post Will This Perfect Day for Flying Go Unpunished? appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

I immediately fell in love with the place, its warm summer temperatures, sunny blue skies, and—the best—its people. Friendly, welcoming, happy people! I made many new friends and kept returning every summer, always mentioning to those I visited that I wanted to move here someday. And my friends—being good friends, kept telling me—”you better visit in winter first.” Temperatures in Minnesota range from the 80s (Fahrenheit) in summer to the low 10s during the winter, and in the north can go even lower.

During the winter, the land of 10,000 lakes becomes the land of 10,000 frozen lakes.

I finally moved to Minnesota this year, just as winter started. As the temperatures started to go down, I was already wearing a sweater while the thermometer showed 50 degrees F. While wearing my best warm clothes, I could observe some strange behavior among the locals: they were still in shorts, t-shirts, and flip-flops. What is wrong with you people? It is cold! 

Without knowing it, Minnesotans were showing me how resilient and adaptable they can be and, at the same time, how they squeeze the fun out of any sunny day. And that is how flying is approached by the locals in love with it.

In summer, you will see a lot of wheels left at the hangar, and airplanes become taller in their floats. As soon as those lakes start to freeze, the floats are removed, and straight skis are installed. Any day over 32 degrees F feels like summer, and people will run to the airport with shovels to remove the snow in front of the hangars, and fly in t-shirts.

One of those adaptable Minnesotans is Paul Jackson, owner of the Jackson Seaplane Base in northern Minnesota (MN61), a small seaplane base with a hangar, dock, and cabin. It’s an excellent place to take a break or escape from bad weather—or make an emergency bathroom stop—last time to pee before Canada! So what do you do when your “runway” freezes during the winter? Easy, you start a ski fly-in.

Jackson, a retired airline pilot, started his Ski Fly-In eight years ago. Pilots will do anything for free food, so he began by offering those who flew in a bowl of chili. Eight brave pilots showed up to that first meeting, which quickly snowballed to up to 70 airplanes in the following years.

This year’s weather couldn’t be better: a gorgeous sunny day, temperatures in the 30s, and a packed-solid snow runway. For those without skis but at least 850-series tires, there was an option to land at the snowmobile trail that was rock solid, at least until I left the trail to taxi back and got stuck in the snow with my Cessna 170. Good thing I had a crew onboard that quickly jumped to the rescue, pushing the 170 to better footing.

All kinds of taildraggers (and a brave Cessna 172) showed up to enjoy a warm meal provided by Steve, Kathi Schwister, and TrickAir Skis. Cubs, Luscombes, Huskies, Cessnas, and Andy Brown’s spectacular Beaver, complete with a crew of six—all landing on the frozen Horseshoe Lake with around 17 inches of solid, thick ice.

This was my first landing on the snow and with big wheels (850s). I talked with Paul several times to confirm that this was safe, and he told me, “go for the snowmobile trail, and you will be fine.” Ski flying is not for the faint of heart. Based on a recent fly ice-fishing trip with three other airplanes, I can tell you it is 90 percent hard work and 10 percent fun. The 10 percent fun is celebrating with your friends when you finally manage to start the engine or unstick the airplane from the frozen slush. While it is hard work, it is also definitely rewarding and one of those bucket list items that every adventurous pilot should try.

My day ended in a spectacular way doing an air-to-air photo session with Andy’s Beaver, and as he tells me, “the key to Minnesota winter is to find happiness in the suffering!” And they know how to do that.

You know that you will be with people who love flying when their airplanes are on skis, and this fly-in is proof of that. Until next year!

The post A Ski Fly-In Helps in Finding Happiness in the Suffering appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

While I do not take pleasure in identifying with any personality trait of Michael Scott, I must concede that in matters that concern the safety and well-being of my beloved Cessna 170, I too am just a little stitious.

The most recent example of this occurred just a few weeks ago. The ever-present overcast layer of clouds that have been befouling the skies here in Wisconsin for the past month or two had lifted just enough for some VFR flying, the lakes were frozen yet not covered with snow, and I had the afternoon free. I texted my friend Jim, and we made plans to go land on a nearby lake that was hosting ice boat races. It was shaping up to be a magnificent day of flying, and I was excited.

Any pilot relatively new to taildraggers monitors crosswinds like a hawk, and I’m no exception. Whatever servers connecting me to nearby METARs and TAFs must physically glow orange from the strain of having to provide me with constant wind updates on days I go flying. On this particular day, I’d be facing a direct crosswind at my home airport, and it was forecast to be blowing at my maximum personal crosswind limit. 

Having endured so many winter weather cancellations, however, my frustration with the weather exceeded my hesitance to push the limits. I made the decision to fly, crosswinds be damned…but I made a mental note that the wind was a potential risk factor; a red flag to bear in mind.

As this was a relatively last-minute flight, I neglected to plug in my engine heater the night before as I would have done with more advance notice. The engine, therefore, was ice cold upon my arrival to the hangar. After about 20 minutes of unsuccessfully begging and coaxing it to start, I heard Jim flying over and radioed him the news – he’d most likely be on his own for the epic frozen lake flight. 

• READ MORE: Flying Through a Wisconsin Winter

With the exception of his healthy physique and his sensible alcohol consumption, Jim is a definitive Wisconsin resident. He’s friendly and never hesitates to lend a helping hand when one is needed. Rather than proceed to the frozen lake, he opted to land and see if he could provide some assistance.

At the same time, a fellow hangar resident walked over to do the same. Upon hearing about the stubborn engine and now dying battery, he brought me his battery charger. We could leave the battery on charge for a little while, he said, and have my engine up and running so I could go fly.

I considered the offer. Yes, I could theoretically get the engine started. But my goal was to land in the middle of the frozen lake, shut down, and watch some ice boat racing. If ever there was a time and place where one wants to be 100 percent positive their engine will start right up, that was it. Red flag number two.

I glanced over at a nearby treeline to see what the winds were doing and observed the waning afternoon light. We had already been planning to fly into the later part of the afternoon. With sunset occurring at around 4:35 p.m., the day was short. And now, with a battery-charging delay, we’d be creeping ever closer to dusk, setting the stage for a return to my insufficiently-lit grass strip. Red flag number three.

Feeling a bit like the universe was perhaps trying to send me a message, I decided to scrap the flight. The helpful hangar neighbor pressured me to use the charger and get into the air, but I declined. It wasn’t even that the red flags were all significant ones—it was almost more a matter of taking a hint from the challenges fate was throwing at me and not tempting it any further. I am, after all, just a little stitious. 

Ever the great guy, Jim invited me to join him in his 170. As we were climbing out and heading toward the lake, I started to feel a little embarrassed about my overly-cautious outlook on things and voiced this to him. He wholeheartedly supported my decision, describing how squirrely and tricky the winds had been for him on his way into my strip just a bit earlier. With as much experience as he has in his 170, I’m convinced he could negotiate 40-knot direct crosswinds while playing an accordion and smoking a cigar, but his support made me feel a lot better about things.

We flew to the nearby lake that was hosting the ice boat racing, landed, and shut down. Although I was actively anticipating the slick ice surface, I still nearly suffered a fall while getting out of the airplane. Fortunately, a nearby spectator lent me a spare set of Yaktrax, rubber nets that stretch over the outside of your shoes with tiny carbide spikes on the bottom. These solved the traction problem, and we were able to spend some time walking around and observing the iceboat racing without the inconvenience of a visit to the ER.

Takeoff and landing were uneventful, but taxiing on the ice was interesting. With such a clean, slick surface, Jim was unable to effectively steer on the ground. The tires simply slid over the ice, and blasts of power were unable to steer the tail. The solution was to taxi forward until one of the tires was on top of a thin coating of snow and then use that traction to pivot in that direction. After getting situated and taking off, Jim dropped me off back at my hangar and headed home.

Looking back, sure, I may have been overly cautious that day. And sure, we have to step outside of our comfort zones if we want to grow and develop our skills and experience. But things change when you become an airplane owner. Gone are the days of flying generic rental planes devoid of any personality or personal connection. In their place is your pride and joy that you want to cherish and protect like nothing else you’ve ever owned. 

The way I figured it, I had waited about 35 years to own my own airplane. If taking care of it means regularly erring in favor of safety and incurring delays of days or weeks between flights, well, that’s nothing compared to the time it took to become an owner at all. I may be a stitious owner from time to time, but I’m a stitious owner who is ok with taking a bit more time to push the limits.

The post Don’t Tempt Fate With Your Airplane’s Red Flags appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

While winter might be a quiet time for general aviation in some areas, there are still events designed to make the most of the snowy season. Numerous airports host fly-ins for skiplanes, giving owners of these typically vintage aircraft a reason to show them off while demonstrating the special skills needed for ski flying.

• READ MORE: Flying Through a Wisconsin Winter

Fly-ins and other aviation events for pilots and their families continue across the country throughout the winter. Often they are small, low-key affairs compared with similar summer events. Whether you fly on skis or wheels, around the snow belt or in regions with milder weather, there probably are events scheduled nearby. Check in with local airport managers and flying clubs to find out what is happening and when. Below are a few winter aviation gatherings worth considering. 

Frostbite Chili Fly-In

Canton Mettetal Airport (1D2)

Canton, Michigan

February 4, 2023

The airport is home to EAA Chapter 113, known as the Backyard Eagles and founded there in 1961. The hosts invite attendees to “bring a pot of your favorite chili to share or try one of ours.” There are hot dogs and beverages available for a donation. The event takes place from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. inside the EAA 113 Aviation Center, rain, snow, or shine. For more information, contact Dave Steiner, 734-392-8113, https://www.eaa113.org

Bowman Field 13th Annual Ski-Plane Fly-In

Bowman Field Airport (B10)

Livermore Falls, Maine

February 11, 2023

Ski planes are a traditional way to get around in Maine during the winter, especially as you make your way to the northern part of the state. Numerous taildraggers and ultralights frequent this 2,200-foot turf strip, and the traffic picks up for the fly-in, which is known for the potluck lunch put on by the Bowman Field Flying Club members. The menu includes an “assortment of chilies, chowders, desserts and other homemade goodies.” The event runs from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m.

• READ MORE: Five Flying Destinations Offering Winter Warmth

EAA Winter Flight Fest

Pioneer Airport (WS17)

Oshkosh, Wisconsin

February 11, 2023

Wisconsin winters are an ideal backdrop for flying on skis, and this annual gathering at Pioneer Airport, a 1930s-style strip on the edge of Wittman Regional Airport (KOSH), reminds pilots that there are reasons to visit Oshkosh year- round. Visitors can check out a number of hands-on activities at the EAA Aviation Museum, take part in model-airplane building contests and enjoy complimentary chili. Of course the highlight is watching pilots arrive in their ski-equipped aircraft.

SkiPlane and Wheel Fly-In

Aitkin Municipal Airport – Steve Kurtz Field (KAIT)

Aitkin, Minnesota

March 18, 2023

Chili definitely is a common theme among pilots during the winter, and this fly-in adds hot dogs to the mix. EAA Chapter 965, the Aitkin Flyers, sponsors the event. The airport has a 3,123-foot turf strip that is reserved for ski-equipped aircraft from November through April and a 4,000-foot asphalt runway for visitors arriving in aircraft with wheels. For more information, contact Trudi Amundson, trudiamundson@yahoo.com

The post Winter Fly-Ins Offer Outings for Ski-Plane Pilots appeared first on FLYING Magazine.

As this is the first winter in which I can fly my airplane without the complications of major engine maintenance, I’m free to stumble through winter ownership unhindered by anything beyond general inexperience. One by one, I’m learning lessons and discovering solutions that collectively make winter flying more fun, and I’ve compiled a few products and lessons that have stood out thus far.

Engine Preheater

Up here in the frozen north, a well-heated, fully-insulated hangar is the stuff of dreams. Owning such a hangar is the Wisconsin equivalent of owning an oceanside villa in Monaco—it’s pricey, exclusive, and instantly makes you the envy of your circle of friends. My friend Jim has a hangar like this, complete with a mini fridge, a sectional couch, and enough cool wall decor to make you dread going home.

Most of us keep our machines in primitive, unheated T-hangars that may or may not be completely sealed from the elements. It’s not lost on me that this is a good problem to have; even basic hangars are palaces compared to outdoor tie-downs. Nevertheless, those of us in unheated hangars are presented with a few challenges, and for us, an engine preheater is a wise investment. 

The basic premise of any engine heater is simple; using forced air or electric elements, they heat an engine compartment or components of the engine itself, warming engine oil and easing engine starts. In addition to expediting engine (and cabin) warmup, this reduces engine wear and increases engine longevity.

Engine preheating generally comes in two forms. The cheaper and simpler option consists of small portable heaters with ducting to direct the heat into the engine compartment. While these are often the less expensive option, they also introduce more of a fire hazard. 

Should an unattended portable heater malfunction, or should the ductwork become dislodged, piping-hot air can be redirected onto surfaces and components that react poorly to such temperatures. Many people use these systems successfully throughout the winter, but I am haunted by the idea of being responsible for a hangar fire that may claim multiple airplanes.

• READ MORE: Tundra Tires Bring More Than Just Good Looks

A number of companies manufacture dedicated preheat kits that are installed directly onto the engine. Accordingly, there are fewer ways in which they can malfunction and create a fire hazard. This was one of the main reasons I chose this option, and I went with a company called Reiff. Only after my system was installed did I learn the company is based only about 30 miles away from me, in rural Wisconsin. 

Reiff offers two main types of preheat kits; the least expensive utilizes a single heating element to warm the oil pan, and the best kits add a heating element to each cylinder, effectively warming the entire engine. I opted for the latter, reasoning that consistent, uniform engine heating is beneficial.

A local maintenance facility took 3.5 hours to install the $950 system. Provided I remember to plug the engine in the night before I want to fly, I’m now greeted with a very warm engine and an easy start for every flight. 

Battery Charger

Last Saturday morning, my friend Jim and I hatched a wonderful plan. Temperatures were in the 30s, the ceiling had lifted to around 2,500 feet, and the local lakes had 6 to 8 inches of solid ice coverage. Wisconsinites everywhere were out frolicking on the ice, partaking in everything from ice fishing to ice boat racing to paraskiing. 

In past winters, I’ve joined Jim as a passenger for some ice landings, and this was finally my chance to fly along with him in an airplane of my own. My airplane was running well, I was familiar with the area, and best of all, Jim could serve as the guinea pig, landing first to ensure there were no issues with the ice surface.

There was only one issue—my engine was cold-soaked. Because our plans had come together at the last minute, I hadn’t plugged my engine in to warm it up. I agreed to go anyway, hoping I’d get it started in spite of this.

Unfortunately, it was not to be. A combination of ice-cold temperatures and my overpriming seemed to offend the engine, and despite catching and running roughly for a moment here and there, it simply refused to start. I ended up pushing the airplane back into the hangar and joining Jim as a passenger once again.

After we returned, a nearby hangar tenant offered to lend me his portable Diehard brand battery charger, a robust unit capable of trickle charging and quick charging. I set it up overnight, and it effortlessly brought my tired battery back up to a 100 percent charge. Having experienced how useful the charger was, I ordered one the following day and am now prepared to solve future battery issues independently. 

In hindsight, it seems like an obvious item to add to the list of necessary hangar accessories, but in my case, I first needed to experience a major inconvenience to take the idea seriously.

Powered Tug

This one is still on my wish list. I presently own a massively overbuilt tow bar that appears to have been engineered for Douglas DC-9s, and up until this past summer, it has worked reasonably well to pull my airplane around.

Then I installed some 26-inch tundra tires.

Set to only 8 to 10 psi, the new tires are pillowy soft. They make landing on rough surfaces a breeze, and they make the airplane feel like a big Tonka truck, shrugging off my blundering landings without a second thought. But they also make it far more difficult to pull the airplane into and out of the hangar, even on concrete.

At first, I chalked this up to a badly-needed fitness opportunity. I’d simply hunker down, put my weight into it, and muscle the airplane around as needed while burning off some burger- and cheese-curd-induced calories. But after winter weather set in, a close call with an unseen patch of ice nearly sent me to the ground, and visions of my recent rib-breaking refueling incident scared me straight and inspired me to shop for a powered tug.

Initial research suggests that there is little middle ground when it comes to powered tugs. On one end of the spectrum, you’ve got used Frankentug specials available on classified sites. These contraptions may or may not work properly, they will likely date back to the Clinton administration, and whether they’re gas or electric, they’ll almost certainly be covered in decades of grime. But they’re cheap, ranging from around $500 to $1,500.

On the other end of the spectrum, you’ve got companies like Best Tugs. Starting at around $3,000, their tugs work perfectly. They’re reliable, quiet, and rather than looking like you’re involved in a wrestling match with an angry snowblower, you can enjoy buttery-smooth fingertip control before and after every flight. 

The price is hard to swallow, though. Were I definitely remaining in my location long term, I’d consider hitting up an adjacent hangar tenant for a partnership opportunity in which we share one nice tug. That way, we’d each be able to enjoy the luxury anytime for half the price.

For now, I stubbornly continue to scour the local classifieds in the hopes that a decent used Frankentug happens to become available. But then again, the upgrade to that Best Tug would amount to less than the cost of one of my tundra tires…and it certainly would be a lot less expensive than another hospital stay.

The post Flying Through a Wisconsin Winter appeared first on FLYING Magazine.